


Piazza San Sepolcro

by okaywhateverokayyes



Category: SKAM (France)
Genre: Angst, Clip Dialogue, Eliott's POV, Flashback scene, Internal Dialogue, Lucas' Piano Talent, M/M, One Shot, Post-Episode 2: Clip Friday 19:34
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-20 15:43:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17625173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okaywhateverokayyes/pseuds/okaywhateverokayyes
Summary: Lucas had his back to him, shoulders strung high, upright, hovering his hands delicately-almost ghostly over the keys. He dropped his gaze from the music sheet, his fingers strumming to a spectral he most likely recalled. Almost as if Lucas had memorized-no, emblemed the forms and tempo into every fiber in his body-{Mid Vendredi (Friday) 19:34 clip, added scene (internal dialogue) + Eliott's POV}





	Piazza San Sepolcro

**Author's Note:**

> The Piano Piece is called : "I Love You" by Riopy 
> 
> This is a take on the LAST clip that was dropped on 02.01.19, at 19:34 and in Eliott's POV as he watches Lucas play the piece and how he is smitten/absorbed by it.

Lucas had his back to him, shoulders strung high, upright, hovering his hands delicately-almost _ghostly_ over the keys. He dropped his gaze from the music sheet, his fingers strumming to a spectral he most likely recalled. Almost as if Lucas had memorized- _no, emblemed the forms and tempo_ _into every fiber in his body_ -

 

 _Yeah_ , Elliot attested as he drew a slow drag, letting the smoke obscure his vision- _that had to be it_.

 

From where he sat, Elliot arched his back into the cushion, eyes revived as he fixated on Lucas’ chest. He couldn’t help but heed his attention to _Lucas_ : labored breaths accompanied by a pursed inhale. Only when did the measure in the chordal units pick up, did Lucas swallow his first breath of reprieve.

 

Piano was something Elliot had indulged in. It was elusive and the thought of pedaling numerous melodies at once felt unusual, still did but he had limited his time spent practicing. The act itself rendering him dismayed and unsatisfied.

 

As Lucas interconnected each tempo, the keys threading together in a legato so that the notes wash over his own ears in a tranquil manner, Eliot wondered why he never maintained the intensity punctuating in every reverberation of the keys.

 

Elliot lurched forward, his grin wider than the music. For a moment, Elliot wondered if the room was as boisterous as he had imagined or if they both had lost themselves in their thoughts or if it was something entirely else and they indeed, had drifted far away.

 

Elliot knew Dessner, clung to These New Puritans, safeguarded Jonny Greenwood, honored Max Richter but ever-so-often, dabbled in bolleros if warranted but _this_ -

 

This was, something else.

 

He had been in Italy a few seasons since. It was spontaneous more than he was inclined to admit. He would be lying if he hadn’t considered seeing Duomo di Milano, or considered walking through the neo-classical architecture ornamenting Quadrilatero d’Oro-

 

No, that would have been a lie.

 

But when he ended up in Piazza San Sepolcro, that indeed was unexpected.

 

At first, he was consumed by his churning stomach, the ambiance demanding a cooling meal. He followed the burgeoning crowd, those who murmured words longing for appetite. He ended up at Ciacco and accepted that gelato was a respectable choice any time of the day.

 

Elliot scooped up a spoon of coconut and dipped it into the pistachio settling in the bottom of the cup. The air had settled, the wind bristling across his skin as to only make him shiver.

 

He had followed another crowd back to a colonnade, a square flooded with an energetic bunch of people, all engrossed at the area behind the neighboring police station. As he trailed his eyes to the center of everyone’s attention, the Steinway Grand became painstakingly obvious, as did the composition emanating from it.

 

“It’s his new single,” a girl enamored by the recital squealed to a woman she entangled her hand with, “ _Mom_ , how can he-“ she was breathless as she stopped to stare and absorb.

 

Elliot clamped his lips down on the spoon, the gelato melting into his tongue, his jaw numbed by the coldness.

 

“It’s lovely,” her mom remarked, sipping on a sizeable cup of coffee, “I’ve never heard of it.” Her attention elsewhere.

 

Her daughter rolled her eyes expectedly, which caused Elliot to stifle a laugh.

 

“You had already missed out on one, could you at least pay attention to this?” She exasperated, wrapping a protective arm around her mother and guiding her gaze towards the raised colonnade, “It _is lovely_ , which is ironic because he’s calling it-“

 

He _had_ heard it before.

 

Like a whisp of morning mist, intoxicating his nerves, the aroma of pistachio fused with coconut settled on Elliot’s tongue. He exhaled to eliminate the fog blinding his vision.

 

 _Should he tell him?_ It occurred to him that he recognized the symphony.

 

Lucas swayed his head back, eyebrows in indignation, wearing an unsure-yet-thinly-veiled smile, as if he too was surprised at what he was doing. As if he had forgotten and was quickly reminded of the rhythm.

 

Elliot beamed, matching Lucas’ incredulity.

 

 _No_ , he decided, _he wouldn’t let him know_.

 

Elliot was on the brim of his seat, unable to mask the innate excitement that threatened to project outwards as he let out a prolonged sigh. _It sounded magical_. He admitted; _It sounded even better within the confines of his cooped up walk-up room_.

 

He had felt the brim of eyes moist, swallowed his composure as his lips forged into a, probably, simpering and idiotic grin.

 

Lucas tentatively turned around, parsing his lips as if to say: “Yeah, there. That’s all I can do.” As if what he had done was subpar, or worse-mediocre.

 

“That was crazy.” Elliot assured him, feeling the need- _no, the desire_ , to do so.

 

_J’entends ta voix dans tous les bruits du monde._

Lucas chuckled dubiously, “It was no Star Wars music but…”

 

Elliot swiped his lips, well-aware of where that lacking-internal-affliction arose from. He was familiar with it. He too, had tried to avoid his own shadow; nearly impossible and usually only accomplished by hiding away in the depths of his apartment-even that wasn’t foolproof.

 

“You’re surprising,” he said promptly, swallowing and trying to look casual, “I like surprising people.” An admittance that slipped past his mouth abruptly.

 

Yet, as a clear, assured grin settled on Lucas’ face, Elliot was glad he had said so.

 

_Oh- J’entends ta voix dans tous les bruits du monde!_

  

**Author's Note:**

> GAH.
> 
> "J’entends ta voix dans tous les bruits du monde." : Paul Éluard
> 
>  
> 
> "I hear your voice in all the world’s noise."
> 
> Tumblr: okaywhateverokayyes


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